<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>time enough at last by rostovslover</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535306">time enough at last</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rostovslover/pseuds/rostovslover'>rostovslover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Inspired by The Twilight Zone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:10:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rostovslover/pseuds/rostovslover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>an episode of the twilight zone leads you and brian to a discussion about your future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian May &amp; Reader, Brian May/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>time enough at last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>not my best but first time writing for brian (although i have been directly up this mans ass for the past year and a half)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A saucepan of oatmeal cooked on the stovetop. Soft light filtered into the small kitchen, illuminating the snake on the cover of Brian’s National Geographic - once the pinnacle of his attention as he raved about Kenya and Captain Cook and the Missouri River.<br/>
It could have been Brian’s sporadic studio schedule or simply a new-found sleepy morning appreciation but he had been clingy all morning, practically attached to you at the hip. He stood behind you at the stove, long arms looped around your waist, chin on your shoulder.<br/>
You reached back to pat at his messy curls, “You have to be uncomfortable standing like that.”<br/>
He shook his head, toying with a bit of fabric from your pyjama shirt, “Perfectly content,”<br/>
“Well I’m very sorry to inform you but you may have to detach for a moment,” You gently nudged him off, prompting quite a bit of protest, as you scooped oatmeal into ceramic bowls.<br/>
In the living room, Twilight Zone reruns played on the television as you settled into the couch. Onscreen a little man in a pin-stripe suit and cokebottle glasses navigated the decrepit remains of his town. A few minutes prior in the episode there had been a bombing and he was the lone survivor, the result of a retreat into a bank vault so he could read in peace.<br/>
Brian was completely engrossed by the story, spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth. As all seemed lost for the man on-screen Brian turned towards you, “What would you do in such a situation?”<br/>
You shrugged, spooning porridge into your mouth, “I don’t know, what would you?”<br/>
“His idea isn’t terrible-” He gestured towards the man, now overjoyed by the library he had found in the rubble, “- But realistically it isn’t feasible. With the water probably irradiated and no food around, plus he doesn’t have any shelter and the weather would be more than inclement. He isn’t properly prepared for what's happening. I don’t know what I’d do either, the situation isn’t ideal,”<br/>
The man cried onscreen. Both of you turned your attention back to the scene where he held his broken glasses. He cried about the unfairness, questioned how it had happened and what he’d do. There was heavy existentialism as the camera panned out.<br/>
Both you and Brian stared at the screen for a moment while the credits rolled. He took a breath and leaned back, “That was… unfortunate,” He looked over to you, still reeling from the ending, “Are you done with your bowl, my love?”<br/>
When he returned from putting the dishes in the sink Brian settled back into his corner of the couch. He opened his arms, beckoning you into his embrace. You obliged, curling into his chest.<br/>
“You’re warm,” You murmured into the crook of his neck.<br/>
His eyebrows twitched, not quite furrowing, “Are you cold?”<br/>
You shook your head, “Noo, you’re just warm,” It was quiet for a moment as he began to stroke his fingers through your hair and you toyed with a loose string on his sweater, basking in the gentle Sunday morning ambiance. You looked up at him, “What would be your ideal situation?”<br/>
He hummed in thought, “Well obviously you’d be there. Maybe we’d live in the country with some animals, we could grow some of our own food. Just something nice and peaceful, every day like this,” He stroked over your cheekbone.<br/>
“That sounds nice.” You nodded, “Would we have cows?”<br/>
Brian grinned, “Of course we would have cows, what kind of farmers would we be if we didn’t?”<br/>
“Farmers,” The thought made you giggle, “Could you imagine us as farmers? Directly from our London apartment, you in a rock band and me with a shitty office job.”<br/>
He joined in your laughing, “We could do it, pack up right now and go!”<br/>
You stared up at him, his face slightly flush, a small smile still drawing up the corners of his mouth, “I love you,” You said softly.<br/>
“I love you,” He replied, tipping his head down to kiss you softly. Mornings like this were the most cherished, the chaste intimacy of domestic life. The innocent familiarity between the pair of you that sparked beautiful occasions such as this. It was lovely and pure and you had nothing but time.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>